


The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From The Tree

by Redring91



Series: Redring91's MoreLoveForCas 2016 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesiac Castiel, Canon Temporary Character Death, Castiel's Grace, Castiel's True Form, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer is a Little Shit, M/M, MoreLoveForCas, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redring91/pseuds/Redring91
Summary: Castiel had walked into that reservoir and ensured the destruction of the Leviathan, even as he destroyed himself in the process.
Several months later, the Winchesters investigate rumours of a tree that grants revelation and healing to those that eat of its fruit. The young man who tends to the tree has dreams of light and heat and wings.
And Lucifer is a dick who does not want Sam to eat the Apple.
-





	

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> Written for the #MoreLoveForCas month (October 2016), with a ‘make me choose’ theme for each week.
> 
> Week Two: 6th – 9th Oct: Angel Blade or Angel Grace (I chose Angel Grace)
> 
> To focus on Castiel’s grace, I wanted to do a Season 7 AU. As an unfortunate side effect of that, the tone of this is a little bittersweet.
> 
> -

-

 

He breathes. He is alive. This is a surprise; though he does not know why, he thinks he should be dead. Yet he lives.

 

He reaches for his senses, finds wet dirt beneath his fingers and cool liquid lapping at his legs. When he opens his eyes, the dark recedes into soft sunlight. His body is unclad, washed clean of taint – he shies away from lingering sensations of red and black and pain – and he crawls forward, dragging his body out of the water. It’s a start, but where does he go from here?

 

_Dean._

 

The waterlogged ground of the riverbank gives way to green grass. He is compelled to keep moving, drawn towards a nearby echo of light and warmth; he doesn’t understand what it is or how he seems to know it. He gets his feet beneath him, leaving the river behind and making his way up the hillside. An old building lies before him, weathered down with age but showing signs of recent care. He stumbles beyond a crumbled stone wall and into a courtyard, reaching for the source of that gentle glow. The palm of his hand comes to rest flat against smooth bark. He sighs, comforted without reason.

 

_Dean._

 

He is so tired. He slides his way down, curling up at the base of the tree and nestling into its warmth. He closes his eyes.

 

He must sleep, because he dreams.

 

-

 

“Hey.” Sam calls carefully across the room. “I may have found something.”

 

Dean doesn’t look up from the gun he’s been repeatedly field stripping and reassembling for the past two hours. “A hunt?”

 

“A healer,” Sam offers and is pleased to see Dean set the weapon down. He gets up and slumps into the chair opposite, grunting an acknowledgement which Sam takes to mean he’s going to listen. “Well it may not exactly be a healer, but there have been a handful of healings that have occurred over the last few months. A person with an injury is given an ‘apple’ and after they eat it their injury is healed. All the stories mention a young man that tends to the tree; that they consent to eat the fruit of their own volition; and that they experience some kind of revelation.”

 

Dean looks sceptical. Sam nudges the research his way. Dean remains silent as he flicks through it.

 

“Not very enthusiastic, is he?”

 

Sam tries not to react. Lucifer doesn’t seem to expect a response anyway, continuing to draw pictures on the motel wall out of ice. The devil grins nastily and adds, “considering the whole healing you thing was his idea, you’d think he’d be a little more cheerful about it, right?”

 

“And you think this is legit?” Dean asks finally.

 

“Can’t hurt to look into it.” Sam suggests. “There’s loads of lore about the healing properties of fruits, in multiple mythologies.”

 

“I guess. Will it work on you though? These injuries are all physical and yours – ” Dean cuts himself off, looking pained.

 

“Is my soul.” Sam finishes. “Even if it doesn’t heal the root of the damage, it might at least get rid of my angel stalker.”

 

“Ooh, that was unkind of you Sam.” Lucifer raps his knuckles against the wall and Sam glances at him reflexively. He immediately wishes he hadn’t. On the wall is a stick figure with wings, a sad face and crosses for eyes. The word CASTIEL is written beneath it. “Dean’s in _mourn-ning_ for his pet _bird-die_.”

 

Dean has pushed himself back from the table and is stalking over to the fridge. Sam realises what he said. “Dean, I’m sorry. Lucifer’s here, he’s being…” he sighs, but then he repeats his brother’s name more firmly when Dean pulls a beer out. “We agreed, remember?” Sam had promised to find some way to get better if Dean made an effort to rein in his drinking.

 

“I’ve only had three today.” Dean retorts without heat, but he sets the beer down on the counter instead of opening it. “The place is just a few hours from here, so we can leave first thing in the morning.” Then he heads into the bathroom without another word. Sam hears the shower start up and he buries his face in his hands. The last couple of months have been a struggle for both of them. Though they’ve done a small hunt or two for the sake of normality, they are both falling apart. Sam can’t help but feel like the apparition of Lucifer is wearing him down, and Dean has been fishtailing between angry and morose, a combination that is making him overly reckless. And they are both, of course, mourning. Sam feels miserable, but Dean is devastated. He’s been drinking and brooding exponentially since Cas died. Since Cas had walked into that reservoir and ensured the destruction of the Leviathan, even as he destroyed himself in the process.

 

“ _Poor little Castiel, he broke and he bled_ ,” Lucifer sings liltingly. “ _Gave all for the Winchesters, and now he’s_ – ”

 

Sam digs his thumb into the scar on his hand, forcing Lucifer to vanish. He keeps his eyes closed.

 

-

 

_He is light, a multidimensional wavelength of bold radiance. But the Archangel is brighter, far more glorious, and as it descends upon him he cannot help his fear. Still, he does not regret his choice. He stands firm and his intent does not waver. He must give his charge the time he needs to stop this madness. He is torn asunder, the Healer’s hands knowing precisely how to peel him apart. The host soul cushioned within his light shrieks, in pain and dread but also with dismay and compassion – which is as surprising as it is undeserved. The Prophet shouts fearfully as he bursts open, but as his light is then extinguished he knows no more._

_He is folded back together, awareness returning abruptly to find himself standing in a stone courtyard, his vessel whole once more. This is unprecedented. His grace pulses, shimmering as it illuminates him from within. He searches for his friend’s soul, guided by Dean’s almost-prayer – a tangle of regret and helpless fury; someone is hurting him and Dean wishes he was there.  He spreads his wings, light radiating from him as he does so. His grace engenders new life beneath him with the motion, tendrils of light taking root in the earth he stands on._

 

-

 

Both Winchesters are feeling far more optimistic the next day and their cautious hope seems to pay off almost immediately after they arrive in town.

 

“If it’s the Apple you’re after, you’ll be needing to see old man Tipton.” Their waitress tells them when Dean asks her about it. “He visits the community garden every day at two.”

 

“What can you tell us about him?” Sam smiles at the young woman – Alexa, according to her nametag.

 

She shrugs. “He’s been caretaker of the old St Gabriel’s convent for years on, since I was a little kid. It was abandoned fifty or so years back, but he’s been restoring it. That’s all there really is to tell, except for the Apple. But the only ones to give those stories are those that lived them.” She wishes them good luck and gives them directions to the community garden before getting back to work. They make sure to leave her a generous tip before they head out.

 

A helpful volunteer at the garden directs them to the compost corner at the back. An elderly man is emptying a bag of flowers onto one of the compost mounds.

 

“Let me help you with that.” Dean grabs the remaining bag and begins to shake out the contents. “Mr Tipton?”

 

The man allows Sam to take the half empty bag from his hands. “Darion Tipton,” he agrees amicably. “I assume you boys are here to ask me about the Apple. May I ask which of you is in need of healing?”

 

“Me.” Sam admits readily.

 

Darion considers him thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll tell part the tale now and the rest back at the convent, if you’re willing.” He starts walking and they fall into step beside him. “You’ve obviously heard the rumours. The Apple’s reputation is true. I used to be a soldier in my youth; I was injured one day when a grenade landed in our camp. Our commanding officer threw himself onto it to save the rest of us.” Darion pauses. “Those of us that were closest only suffered minor injuries. I caught a piece of shrapnel in my leg. The medic did his best but it was enough to send me home with a severe limp. I found it to be manageable over the years.” He smiles as Dean peers down as his even gait. “Once I ate from the tree my leg healed, scars and all.”

 

“What about the ‘revelations’ people were reporting?” Dean questions.

 

Darion’s smile fades. “My brother served in the same garrison as me. Two months before I was injured, he had been captured by enemy soldiers. He was tortured and killed.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says sympathetically.

 

Darion nods in thanks. “I’d always wanted to know what happened to him. When I ate the Apple, I saw it; it played out in my mind like a dream.”

 

“You had a vision?” Dean turns his alarmed gaze to Sam. “Did you know about this?”

 

“I suspected the revelations came in the form of visions, yes.” Sam replies patiently. “But it’s not like I’m a stranger to that. And whatever I see if I eat the Apple can’t be worse than my current situation.” Dean doesn’t seem entirely placated by this reasoning but he doesn’t argue the point – probably because he doesn’t want to go into any more detail about Sam’s visions in present company. “The stories also mention a young man?”

 

“Young Tristam Dean.” Darion explains. “He helps with the gardens at the convent. He watches over the Apple, knows when it’s ready to eat. I’ll introduce you; we’re almost there.” He points up the road to an old stone building. “So what’s your name, lad?”

 

“I’m Sam,” he answers. “And this is my brother, Dean.”

 

Darion comes to a halt. “Your names are Sam and Dean.” His statement is one of near wonder. They both tense warily but he only smiles at them, mysteriously grateful. “Perhaps our meeting is more fortuitous then you realise.”

 

Despite Dean’s badgering Darion says nothing further as they continue up the road, only shaking his head. As they near the gates of the convent, they can see a young man kneeling beside a flower bed, digging. There’s a stack of empty plant pots next to him, and two pots still containing daisies.

 

“You best brace yourself, boys,” Darion says kindly, “if my instincts are true.” As they approach, he calls out to the man. “Tristam! Another patient for you, lad!”

 

The man turns his head. Both Winchesters freeze as they get a proper look at him, gaping as he rises to his feet. When Castiel turns to greet them, there is no recognition in his eyes as he surveys the brothers, though he does seem somewhat preoccupied with looking at Dean. Sam is instantly convinced of Castiel’s identity on this point alone.

 

“Tristam,” Darion says calmly into the strange silence. “This is Sam and Dean.” Castiel stiffens and then sinks in on himself, his gaze flickering to the floor. Dean makes a strangled noise in his throat. Castiel looks back up at him as though compelled.

 

“You have come for the Apple?” He asks, and god, Dean knows he can’t handle this. He nods wordlessly. Castiel sways slightly, as though about to reach out to Dean before thinking better of it, but he smiles as he bids them to follow him. “Are…are you injured?” Castiel asks him.

 

Dean has to swallow a few times before he can get the words out. “It’s my brother.”

 

“Oh.” Castiel glances over his shoulder at Sam. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

 

Sam can’t help but chuckle. “It’s okay.” He hasn’t really had time to realise just how much he has missed his friend, with the madness he’s been suffering lately, but it hits him full force now.

 

The four of them turn into a courtyard. A large tree stands in the centre of it, blooming with white flowers despite it not being the right time of the year. The cobbled stone floor beneath it is awash with petals; they rain lightly down from the branches. For each blossom that falls, another bud promptly sprouts and begins to grow in its place. Hanging from one branch is a solitary piece of fruit – an apple, which gleams a deep red.

 

Castiel reaches up and brushes a finger against the Apple. “It will be another day before it’s ripe enough to eat.” He informs them. “It will grant revelation and then restoration to whom so ever tastes of it.”

 

“Well now,” a smooth voice interjects suddenly. “This is an interesting development.” Sam inhales sharply as Lucifer folds his arms, eyes narrowing at the tree.

 

“I’m having hallucinations.” Sam blurts out, beseechingly. “Can it fix me?”

 

Castiel nods. “The Apple is capable of healing spiritual trauma.”

 

“You’re not really going to trust him, are you?” Lucifer scoffs. “He is the one who got you into this mess!” Sam shoots a glare at the Devil and presses deeply on his scar. Lucifer snarls before he disappears.

 

“Sam?” Dean’s query refocuses his attention. “What do you think?”

 

“I’m fine.” Sam reassures him with a shaky smile. “And, uh, I think that’s great Ca – Tristam, thank you. I’d like to try.”

 

Darion steps forward. “In that case, Tristam, why don’t you set up some rooms for our guests? They may as well spend the night.” Castiel agrees and heads off towards the large building at the other end of the convent grounds. Dean stares after him, forlorn.

 

“Dean,” Sam begins, but he doesn’t really know what to say. He’s feeling a little overwhelmed himself as it is.

 

“You know him, don’t you?” Darion asks. “You know who he was, before the water.”

 

“Water?” Dean repeats swiftly.

 

Darion sighs. “I should start at the beginning.” He gestures to the tree. “And it begins with an empty courtyard. This courtyard has been empty for years, even when the convent was still in use. But then, in 2009, I came out here one day and found a small sapling had pushed its way up through the stone. It was only about six inches tall, but it had definitely not been there the day before.” He shook his head. “After a few months I even tried to pull it out, but it didn’t budge. It just sat there, unchanging. It didn’t grow and it didn’t die. I let it be and nothing happened, for a while. Then between one day and the next, the sapling became the tree as it stands here now, only it was barren then.”

 

“When was that?” Sam asks.

 

“About a year later.” Darion answers.

 

Dean examines the tree with new interest. He notices that the tips of the branches all twist towards the same direction, and he abruptly imagines them reaching out for Castiel as the angel had taken flight. He wonders for a fanciful moment whether he would be able to sense Castiel’s grace within the tree if he touches it.

 

“Then one morning, several months ago, I walked out to find him lying there beneath it.” Darion continues. “Fast asleep he was, surrounded by a sea of petals, and the tree was in bloom. It’s been blooming like this since then. He said the tree drew him here, that he sensed it from the water.” Darion points across the courtyard, to where a section of the stone wall has a large gap in it. A river is visible on the other side, down a sloping bank. “You do know him, both of you?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean rasps. “We know him.

 

“He doesn’t know who he was.” Darion confesses. “He talks, sometimes, though he rarely remembers doing so afterwards.” He pauses. “What’s his name?” He asks quietly.

 

“Castiel.” Sam supplies and Darion mulls this over.

 

“You…you called him Tristam Dean.” Dean’s voice breaks on his own name.

 

“Those first several weeks after I found him, all he would do was lament. Tristam means ‘full of sorrow,’ and that’s how he was. But Dean, well. That was the only word he spoke for the first three days. Just…Dean.”

 

Dean stares, grief-stricken. Then he storms off.

 

Darion smiles sadly. “I’m glad you both found him.” He tells Sam. “Maybe this is an opportunity for all three of you to heal.”

 

-

 

_He is heat, razed lightning, even if he is just a speck of what he had once been. The holy flame in his hand still scorches him as he wields it but he pays this no mind. He hurls it with conviction at the Warrior, who roars with fury as he is driven away. The Morning Star turns cold eyes his way and he knows what is about to come. But his Righteous Man will be safe, and that is all that matters to him right now. His brother raises his hand and coldness spreads over him, prickling across his true form until he is nothing but ice. Then the Devil snaps and he is shattered apart._

 

_He is pieced back together again, a cold jigsaw of glass re-sealed whole in the presence of heat. The courtyard is the same as before, other than the small sapling in front of his feet. But he has no time to ponder his latest resurrection, he must return to the cemetery. He prays – even though he knows no one is listening – that his sacrifice had made a difference this time, that Sam was strong enough, that Dean is safe. He takes flight immediately. The sapling stretches upwards in his wake, drawn to his heat._

 

-

 

When Dean finds him in his room later, Sam resists the urge to ask Dean whether he had had anything to drink while he’d been around town. He watches as Dean begins to pace back and forth.

 

“Why is it an apple?” Dean begins with, tensely. “Wasn’t that supposed to be the root of all sin, or some such crap?”

 

“Maybe the intention of the angel offering the apple is important.” Sam theorises. “Lucifer wanted to condemn humanity; Cas has only ever wanted to save it. And his miracles have been healing people.”

 

“What about these visions?”

 

“The Bible actually refers to the original tree as ‘the knowledge of good and evil.’” Sam points out. “I guess revelation is kind of expected.”

 

“But what if whatever vision _you_ get just makes things worse?” Dean argues.

 

“We’ve been over this already.” Sam eyes him. “What’s this really about? Cas?”

 

“He died!” The words are torn from Dean almost involuntarily. “He was dead, but now he’s here and he’s…” Dean makes a gesture to refer to Castiel’s inconsistent memory. “If this fruit is supposed to work so well, why hasn’t he eaten any?”

 

Sam has been wondering about this as well. “Darion said that the first time the Apple was ripe, he had fallen down a flight of stairs and it aggravated the pain in his leg. Cas offered him the Apple. Maybe he’s given the Apple away each time to someone else instead of eating it himself.” Sam shrugs. “But you know, you could just _ask him_.”

 

Dean deflates all at once. “Bitch.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“I’m just worried that it all seems too easy.” Dean admits. “Finding Cas, fixing you up.”

 

“Sometimes good things happen.” Sam says as he gets to his feet.

 

Dean looks at him sharply at that. “I guess so,” he acknowledges slowly.

 

-

 

Dean remembers the day Cas drowned in perfect clarity.

 

He remembers Cas walking into that reservoir. He remembers the moment that Cas goes under, when the water begins to churn wildly, like a tempest is raging beneath the surface. He remembers seeing bright patches of light shine through and spurts of black gunk hurled up as the waves twist. He remembers hearing a high pitched ringing start up, recognises it as Castiel’s true voice. He remembers watching as the colour red begins to spread through the water, remembers feeling Sam and Bobby having to struggle to hold him back. He remembers witnessing the black ooze lessening and the white light increasing even as the blood does. He remembers the white flaring out, so intensely that the three of them have to shield their eyes from it. He remembers opening his eyes to find the water is calm again, undisturbed other than being awash with red.

 

He remembers screaming Castiel’s name. He remembers approaching the water’s edge to find an empty trench coat.

 

Dean can remember all of this. He just tries very hard not to.

 

-

 

The four of them gather in the dining hall for dinner. Darion asks ‘Tristam’ to fetch the utensils as he sets the table, and he waves away both Winchester’s offers to help. Darion sets a Bible down beside his plate and smiles wryly at Dean’s wary expression.

 

“This is a convent,” Darion reminds him. “We usually begin the meal with a small reading.”

 

“That’s fine.” Sam says as he digs an elbow into Dean’s side.

 

Soft jangling catches their attention and they all turn. Castiel is standing motionless, an assortment of cutlery lying at his feet. His eyes are glassy as he stares at nothing.

 

“Tristam.” Darion moves to his side immediately, his entreat full of compassion. “Come back lad.”

 

“Father,” Castiel murmurs absently. “Father, help me. I cannot do this alone.”

 

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, rigid with tension.

 

“He’s drifting.” Darion explains sadly. “He sometimes gets swept up by memories his conscious mind won’t recall.”

 

“I will not tell you where they are.” Castiel mutters defiantly, and then his expression twists with fear. “The dragons in the waters.” He succumbs to sorrow next. “I would give anything not to have you do this.”

 

This makes Dean start. “Cas?”

 

Darion glances at him before placing a hand on Castiel’s arm. “Sam and Dean are here,” he reminds him gently.

 

“Sam.” Castiel’s eyes seem to regain some focus. “ _Dean_. Dean and I do share…” Castiel trails off, blinking as he comes back to himself. “I apologise.”

 

“No need, lad.” Darion pats his arm and motions him to the table. He scoops up the cutlery that Castiel had dropped and gets out some clean ones, handing them out. Then he offers Castiel the Bible. “Would you like to pick something out tonight?”

 

Castiel nods slowly, taking the book and letting it fall open. He scans a couple of the pages and then begins to read. “My lips shall greatly rejoice when I sing unto thee; and my soul, which thou hast redeemed. My tongue also shall talk of thy righteousness…” Castiel falters, glancing up at Dean.

 

Castiel’s gaze lands on him with the same familiar weight as it has always done. He doesn’t know what to do with this. He feels wrung out, and the words he had been spouting a moment ago _do not help at all_. He clears his throat nervously.

 

Darion takes pity on them both. “Amen.” There are a few minutes of bowls being passed around and food being distributed and then they begin to eat.

 

About halfway through his meal Sam tenses in horror, trying desperately not to stare as Lucifer prowls around the table. “I don’t know why you’re bothering with all this. It’s not going to work.” Sam spears a tomato violently with his fork and tries to ignore the Devil. Lucifer curls one hand around the back of Castiel’s chair and grins darkly. “You really think _Castiel_ can help you? He couldn’t even help himself.” Lucifer reaches out and draws one finger down parallel to Castiel’s face. As he finishes the motion Castiel’s skin begins to blister, burning up like it had when he had still been carrying the souls. Then black ooze begins to drip from his eyes and ears.

 

Sam keeps his eyes on his plate after that, firmly telling himself that Cas is fine, that it’s not real and that Lucifer is a dick. He presses into his scar with such force that by the time Lucifer finally fades away, Sam’s whole arm is numb.

 

-

 

_He had been praying that they would return to Purgatory along with the rest of the souls, but he can feel them driving hooks into his grace to anchor themselves to him. “They held on inside me. Dean, they’re so strong.” He doubles over in pain. “Leviathan! I – I have to try destroy them.” Dean appeals to him for instruction, but he shakes his head. He manages to pull himself upright again and staggers forward, desperation fuelling the motion. “Thou brakest the heads of the dragons in the waters. Thou brakest the heads of leviathan in pieces.” He chants this to himself over and over as he stumbles his way outside. He is not God – not anymore – but he will have to be enough against them. He_ will _be enough. He cannot fail Dean again._

_He walks into the reservoir, arms spread wide as he pulls his grace in tightly. The Leviathan claw at him wrathfully, trying to tear free, but they cannot shake off his grasp. He drags them down into the water with him._

_The Leviathan shape themselves into a shadowy beast, a primordial creature of the deep to do battle with his true form. He flares his wings out in response to the challenge, driving his talons into the sinuous body of the beast and stabs deeply into a set of eyes, splitting open one of the monster’s heads. The teeth of another head fasten around a wing and crunch into bone. He screams. He presses through the agony – the pressure of the ethereal fight is shredding the flesh of his vessel, he is running out of time – his blade slashes at the creature again and again, until only one head remains. He sobs once before unfurling his undamaged wing, leaving it vulnerable. The beast takes the bait, teeth clamping around the exposed limb. He seizes the head and wrenches it around with a snap, driving his blade cleanly down the middle. The beast bellows a final resentment at being thwarted before liquefying into lifeless black sludge. He is alone in the dark._

_He drowns. Grace pours from his broken wings, his true form falling away. His vessel is just as broken. There is black bile in his lungs and the water is stained blood red around him. Dean, he tries to call, but the sound doesn’t come. He chokes on liquid and he drifts away into nothingness. Dean, Dean, he is sorry. He is so sorry. Sorry for Sam, so sorry for everything. Dean, Dean. Dean._

_He dies beneath the water._

_He finds air again._

_He breathes. He is alive._

 

-

 

A frightened cry jolts them all awake. By the time Castiel shouts again Dean is already in his room, both Sam and Darion close on his heels. Castiel is curled up in the corner of the room, shaking wildly. “It’s not safe here,” he whispers.

 

“Cas, Cas, hey,” Dean drops to his knees by Castiel’s side immediately. “Look at me.” Castiel turns towards Dean, eyes wide and unfocused. “It’s okay. Come on, you know me.”

 

“Raised you from perdition,” Cas proclaims. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says encouragingly. “That’s right. It’s me, I’m here.” _Cas_ , he chants silently, _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas_.

 

Castiel blinks. “Hello, Dean.” He smiles. “Prayer is a sign of faith.”

 

“I wasn’t praying,” is Dean’s automatic and flustered response.

 

Castiel frowns slightly. “I thought you were,” he murmurs, confused. Then he unexpectedly declares, “you are beautiful.”

 

Dean’s eyes almost fall out of his head. “What?!”

 

“Your soul is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” Castiel ventures quietly.

 

Dean splutters, self-conscious of their audience. “You can’t just say things like that.” Castiel just squints at him, as if to ask ‘why not’ and Dean sighs. “Never mind.”

 

“Dean…”

 

“Yeah?” Dean waits, but Castiel doesn’t add anything, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “You okay?”

 

“…it is not of import.”

 

-

 

Castiel doesn’t join them for breakfast. Dean finds him sweeping petals in the courtyard. He watches him for a little while before walking over. Castiel stills the broom, glancing up at the branches above him as Dean stands beside him.

 

“The Apple is ripe. Sam can have it whenever he’s ready.”

 

“Good.” Dean says softly. He waits.

 

“You called me Cas.” Castiel keeps his eyes on the tree, not meeting Dean’s gaze. “I know you both, don’t I? You and Sam.”

 

“You’re our friend.” Dean says thickly.

 

“How can you say that?” Castiel looks at him then, his expression haunted. “The vague memories I have of before are full of shame and horror and hopeless pain. I watch Sam flinch away from shadows and I feel so guilty. And you, Dean, I let you down.”

 

“Listen to me.” Dean keeps his tone firm, making sure to hold Castiel’s gaze. “I know you, okay? You made some mistakes, who hasn’t? But you were just doing the best you could under shitty circumstances. And maybe I let you down too.” Dean draws a shaky breath. “But then you were dead, Cas. And you have no idea how much that hurt.”

 

“You mourned me?” Castiel’s voice is small and disbelieving. It makes Dean ache that his friend could ever think otherwise.

 

“I miss you like crazy. Every day.” Dean averts his gaze and it lands on the Apple. Changing the subject, he decides to ask. “Hey, would you get all your memories back if you ate it?”

 

“The tree only bears a single piece of fruit at any one time. And there have been others who have sought the Apple; their needs should not come before mine.”

 

“But the power of this tree, it _is_ yours.” Dean argues. “You must know that.”

 

“I’m aware I’m connected to the tree in some way.” Castiel admits.

 

“Pretty sure that gives you the right to decide what to do with it. I mean, if you want to use the Apple for yourself, you’re allowed.” When Castiel is quiet for a little while, Dean realises something. “You were afraid of getting your memories back.”

 

Castiel does not deny this. “Many of my impressions were unpleasant. I had considered that perhaps it would be best to leave the past where it belonged. But lately, I have been reconsidering.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean asks hopefully.

 

Castiel smiles warmly at him. “I’ve missed you too, Dean.”

 

-

 

“Are you ready, Sam?” Castiel asks softly. They stand together beneath the tree as Dean and Darion watch from the sideline.

 

Sam nods and Castiel turns to the tree, reaching up to pick the Apple. Lucifer laughs cruelly and raises his arms out to the sides like a showman awaiting applause. The courtyard around them goes up in flames. “Come on Sam,” Lucifer drawls. “A fallen angel tells you to eat an apple from a magic tree? You’ve read that chapter in the good old Bible. It _doesn’t end well_.”

 

Castiel turns back to Sam, Apple in hand. Sam’s own hands are shaking a little as he holds them up. Castiel places his free hand on Sam’s arm comfortingly and carefully places the Apple into Sam’s palms.

 

Lucifer’s expression contorts with rage as he advances on Sam. “Don’t you _dare_. You think you’ve suffered so far, what I will do to you if you eat that – ”

 

Castiel’s fingers dig into Sam’s arm and he abruptly inserts himself into the space between the two of them, his posture defensive as he _glares down Lucifer_. “You will do nothing to Sam. You are a manifestation and I will _not allow you to continue_.”

 

Lucifer’s jaw goes slack with surprise and he fizzles out. The flames vanish with him. Castiel’s grip on him relaxes as he turns back to look at him. “Cas?” Sam whispers, dumbfounded.

 

“It’s okay, Sam.” Castiel promises. “I will make things right.”

 

Sam raises the Apple with a smile. “Here goes.” He raises it to his mouth and takes a bite.

 

-

 

_Sam finds himself in a dark room illuminated by flames. Lucifer is standing near him, his vessel blistering the way it had back during the apocalypse when he had been waiting for Sam to say yes. Sam jerks back reflexively._

_But Lucifer isn’t looking at him. “What a peculiar thing you are.” He smiles across as Castiel, who is standing imprisoned in a ring of fire. As Castiel enquires about the condition of Lucifer’s vessel, Sam realises where they are: Carthage. “Nick is wearing a bit thin, I’m afraid. He can’t contain me forever, so – ”_

_“You.” Castiel steps forward, brought up short by the line of fire between him and the Devil. “You are not taking Sam Winchester. I won’t let you.”_

_Sam reels in astonishment. He has long considered Castiel his friend, but if he’s honest he’d only expect to see Cas being this fierce to protect Dean, not him. But Castiel had just stared down one of the strongest Archangels, while trapped and powerless in comparison, and basically told him to back off. Abruptly, Sam remembers the accusation that he had levelled at Castiel when he had him trapped in holy fire, about leaving him soulless on purpose, and he feels appalled at himself._

_“I rebelled, I was cast out. You rebelled, you were cast out.” Lucifer cajoles. “Almost all of Heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what? You’re their new public enemy number one.” Sam winces at the accuracy of Lucifer’s prediction, casting new perspective on the recent angelic civil war._

_Castiel remains unimpressed with Lucifer’s attempts to entice him to join his side. “I’ll die first.”_

_The room goes very cold, Lucifer’s grace seething with compressed fury at his brother’s refusal. “I suppose you will.”_

_Then there is a shift of colour and light, Sam squeezes his eyes shut against the vertigo it causes. When he blinks his eyes back open, the scene has shifted location to inside Bobby’s panic room. Castiel stands between Sam and Lucifer, whose appearance is now semi-transparent. The Devil glares hatefully at Castiel, who stalks towards him and places a hand on his forehead. Lucifer screams in outrage and dissolves into nothing beneath Castiel’s palm. A sense of serenity washes over Sam and he knows intuitively that the hallucination is gone for good._

_Castiel turns to Sam and nods once. Then everything goes white._

 

-

 

When Sam opens his eyes again he’s back in the courtyard. Castiel is watching him with guarded optimism. “Sam?”

 

Sam grins at him. “Thank you.”

 

Dean crosses over to stand beside them both. “So…?”

 

“It worked.” Sam says confidently. “Lucifer’s gone.”

 

“Speaking of,” Dean raises an eyebrow at Castiel. “What was that, before? You saw Lucifer too?”

 

“I sensed the hallucination when I touched Sam. He was an echo of grace.” Castiel’s reply is measured, thoughtful. “This tree is being sustained by grace. My grace.” He takes a step towards the tree and rests his hand on the trunk. Soft light pulses throughout the tree, stemming from Castiel’s touch. A new Apple begins to grow amongst the branches above the angel. Castiel removes his hand when the fruit is ripe. He plucks the Apple and holds it reverently.

 

“Cas?” Dean breathes.

 

He smiles at them both. “Dean. Sam. You are my friends, and I would like my memories of you back.” He glances up at the tree, one last time. “I suggest you stand back.” He raises the Apple and waits until the Winchesters move to stand with Darion again. Then he bites into it.

 

-

 

_He has knowledge of existing for millennia, sensations of stars and space and glory, but the whole of his being focuses on the most important flight he as ever made._

_Hellfire licks at the edges of his wings but he does not falter, holding fast to the precious soul he carries. It screams and weeps in his embrace; part of it is ashamed to have its torment known by the light, even as the other part of it clings to the warmth of salvation. Castiel thinks it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, of all of his Father’s creations. The flight is difficult but he succeeds in raising the Righteous Man from perdition. His grace sings out loudly._

_Dean Winchester is saved!_

 

-

 

Dean watches as the Apple turns into white light in Castiel’s hand after his bite, just as Sam’s had. But unlike when Sam had tasted the Apple, this time the tree begins to glow as well, lighting up from the inside and turning a translucent blueish-white – the colour of an angel’s grace. The form of the tree changes, the trunk narrowing to conform to Castiel’s figure and the branches fanning out to each side, morphing to resemble – _wings_.

 

The display only lasts a few moments before Castiel glows. The grace is absorbed back into his physical vessel, the light shrinking until all of it is contained within the angel once more. When Castiel opens his eyes, they shine brightly with Heavenly power until he blinks it away.

 

“Wow,” Sam breathes. Darion looks equally awestruck. Dean takes a step forward and Castiel’s eyes fix on him immediately.

 

“I remember you.” He says. “I remember everything.”

 

-

 

As a gift, Castiel grows a small sapling in the courtyard where his tree had been. It stops when it reaches about four feet tall. Castiel explains to Darion that it’s not grace imbued; it’s just a normal tree, and it will have a proper life cycle and bear non-supernatural fruit. “You showed me such kindness,” Castiel says gratefully.

 

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers,” Darion recites, “for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” He shakes his head in amusement. “I suppose that proverb was a little more relevant than I expected. But I’m just glad you’re feeling like yourself again.” He smiles. “Take care now, Castiel.”

 

The Impala is parked just outside the convent and as they near it, Castiel tries to start apologising again. “Sam. I am so sorry – ”

 

Sam raises a hand to get Castiel to stop. “Cas, I don’t blame you for what happened. The wall was coming down anyway. And you’ve just finished healing me. You have nothing to apologise for. I mean it.”

 

Castiel still looks uncertain but is pleased enough with Sam’s sincerity that he accepts the statement. “Thank you, Sam.”

 

Sam pats Castiel’s shoulder before getting into the car. Before Castiel can open the back door, Dean catches his arm. “Uh, wait a second.” He tugs Castiel with him around behind the car and opens the boot.

 

“Dean – ”

 

“You killed the Leviathan and saved the world.” Dean reiterates. He carefully extracts the trench coat from where he had folded it and offers it to Castiel, whose eyes widen. “I kept this.”

 

Castiel takes it and puts it on, over his jeans and blue shirt. Dean feels the tight knot of tension that he’s been carrying around inside him for months unravel at the sight. Also, Castiel is barefoot. For some reason it’s this that makes him smile. He tugs the angel closer and rests their foreheads together for a few seconds.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> The TV Show Mythbusters tested and confirmed that a hero could save his buddies by covering a grenade with his own body.
> 
> The excerpts from the King James Bible mentioned/referenced are as followed:
> 
> Genesis 2:9  
> And out of the ground made the LORD God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.
> 
> Psalms 71:23-24  
> My lips shall greatly rejoice when I sing unto thee; and my soul, which thou hast redeemed.  
> My tongue also shall talk of thy righteousness all the day long: for they are confounded, for they are brought unto shame, that seek my hurt.
> 
> Psalms 74: 13-14  
> Thou didst divide the sea by thy strength: thou brakest the heads of the dragons in the waters.  
> Thou brakest the heads of leviathan in pieces, and gavest him to be meat to the people inhabiting the wilderness.
> 
> Hebrews 13:2  
> Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.


End file.
